When I reached her home, I barely had time to raise my hand to knock. The door opened, and there she was—older, radiant, and still unmistakably my little girl. She didn’t speak. She just ran into my arms, and I held her like I’d never let go. In that moment, the years apart dissolved.
That day, I didn’t just reunite with my daughter. I found something deeper—grace, forgiveness, and a part of myself I thought I’d lost. The part that still believed in second chances.
